


Stay with Me

by micaelllla



Series: Our History is Not Our Future [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Jehan/Courf, M/M, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micaelllla/pseuds/micaelllla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Jehan and Courfeyrac meet? And why did they hit it off so quickly?</p>
<p>Sorry, I'm awful at summaries.</p>
<p>Modern AU. Contains background e/R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay with Me

Courfeyrac ran down the paved streets. He hurled himself around the corner of a building and ran into a small body. It squeaked, and Courfeyrac managed to reach out and stop the unfortunate person from falling to the ground. Courfeyrac was not able, however, to keep both armloads of books and papers from flying around them. Courfeyrac was immediately apologizing, "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" He stopped when he noticed that the body was, in fact, a boy around his age, and that he was laughing. The boy looked up at him and said, "Well, I don't think you'll make it now." Courfeyrac looked at the mess around them, let out a small laugh, and said, "I guess not." They both dropped to their knees and gathered the scattered papers. Courfeyrac spared glances at the boy, taking in his appearance. He had on floral print skinny jeans, and loose, high-top converse. His light brown hair, which was about shoulder length, was pulled into an intricate, but loose, french braid. He was awkwardly attractive, Courfeyrac decided. He like it. They correctly separated the papers; Courfeyrac noticing poetry, the boy noticing politics and history. Courfeyrac stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Courfeyrac." The boy smiled, adjusted his things, and said, "Jean Prouvaire." Courfeyrac smiled. Jean Prouvaire said, "Better run, Courfeyrac." Courfeyrac looked at his watch and groaned. "It was nice to meet you, Jean Prouvaire," Courfeyrac said before quickly heading past him. Before running around another corner, Courfeyrac looked back and saw Jean Prouvaire looking after him. Courfeyrac waved and continued on.

Courfeyrac fell into the seat next to Combeferre with a glare from the professor. "Welcome to school; I hope you intend to stay," Combeferre quietly said. Courfeyrac snickered, but got to work. He soom realized, though, that he could not focus on taking notes or paying attention. Combeferre did not notice this until class was dismissed and Courfeyrac hadn't moved. Courfeyrac felt a touch on his shoulder, and he looked up into the amused face of Combeferre. "Dearest Courfeyrac, Earth needs you here," Combeferre said. Courfeyrac looked around the almost empty room and let a surprised Oh! before packing his things. Combeferre threw his arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders as they walked out of the building and asked, "Where are you, friend?" Courfeyrac smiled, knowing that this was his cue to tell Combeferre what had happened. "I met someone, Combeferre," he said. Combeferre nodded solemnly and said, "Ah! I see. A scantily clad woman has shimmied to much for her own good in front of our dear flirt!" Courfeyrac shook his head and said, "No, Combeferre. I met a boy." Combeferre turned serious and looked at his friend. Combeferre knew his friend's sexual preferences; they all did. Courfeyrac loved women, loved flirting with them, partying with them, and going home with them. But Courfeyrac was interested in men. He only got serious with men. "Tell me," Combeferre said. Courfeyrac told Combeferre what happened on the way to class in unnecessary and slightly exaggerated detail. Combeferre bumped him slightly and said, "You are absolutely smitten." They laughed and kept walking.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac sat on the coffee table in the middle of the living room in Enjolras and Grantaire's apartment surrounded by their group of friends brought together by bad history. Courfeyrac had just finished explaining his strange behavior and was being cooed at when Feuilly threw a piece of popcorn at him and asked, "What did you say his name was?" Courfeyrac grinned. His name was sweet to say, like honey. "Jean Prouvaire," Courfeyrac answered. "Oh, he's in my 'Literary Influences on History' class," Feuilly said. All eyes turned towards him. Feuilly puckered his lips and looked at the fan in his hands; he cleared his throat awkwardly. Courfeyrac looked at him and asked, "Doesn't that class meet tomorrow?" Feuilly nodded his head and everyone snickered and started to secretly place bets. Just then, a key was heard in the door. The door swung open to reveal Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras threw his hands in the air and said, "Are you ever not here?" Grantaire walked past him and threw his bag on the kitchen counter. Holding his Americano, Grantaire sat next to Eponine in front on the filled couch and asked her, "Are we still discussing the boy?" Eponine filled him in on Feuilly's contributions to the situation. Grantaire's face lit with delight, and he made suggestive eyebrow movements at Courfeyrac. Grantaire then pulled out his phone and started texting, and Courfeyrac figured that it was to Enjolras, who was putting away his books in his room. Courfeyrac was proved correct when Enjolras walked out and said, "Please tell me you're going to see him." This statement, which was almost completely out of character for Enjolras, caused everyone to laugh and continue teasing Courfeyrac.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac sat in the sun outside of the Literature building. The Spring weather felt wonderful on his skin, and the campus was relatively quiet at this time of day. Courfeyrac felt a light punch on his shoulder, and he looked tp see Feuilly's smiling face. "Here he comes, Mr. Poet Man," Feuilly sang in the tune of the "Miss America" song as he sashayed past Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac looked behind him to the doors of the building to see a large, tacky, peach-colored sweater through the window. Jean Prouvaire pushed through the doors distractedly, hands tugging at his hair, and bobby-pins sitting between his teeth. His messenger bag bounced happily against his yellow pants. Courfeyrac watched as Jean Prouvaire walked about without really seeing. Jean Prouvaire was putting his last bobby-pin in his hair when he came near Courfeyrac, who grinned and said, "Hey." Jean Prouvaire jumped a little, spotted Courfeyrac, and smiled. Hands still in his hair, he said, "Oh, um, hi." He dropped his hands, and Courfeyrac noticed a few stray curls scattered around his head. "Do you have any classes to run off to?" Courfeyrac asked him. Jean Prouvaire chuckled and said, "No." Courfeyrac grinned and said, "Well, then, may I, Courfeyrac, ask you, Jean Prouvaire, to accompany me for coffee?" Jean Prouvaire bit his lip and nodded. Courfeyrac hopped down from where he was perched and started walking. Jean Prouvaire walked next to him in comfortable silence for a few minutes before saying, "Jehan." Courfeyrac looked at him confused and said, "What?" Jean Prouvaire adjusted the strap to his bag. "Call me Jehan," he said. "Jehan," Courfeyrac repeated. "I like it." They grinned at each other and kept walking.

* * *

 

 Courfeyrac flopped onto the couch between Enjolras, who was reading, and Grantaire, who was playing "Battleship" with Combeferre. "I think that I'm in love," Courfeyrac sighed. Enjolras set his book in his lap in disbelief; Grantaire fell from he edge of the couch, and Combeferre bumped into the game causing all of the pieces to fall down. Courfeyrac didn't use the "L" word like most people did. He was completely serious. "Please, do tell," Enjolras said, intrigued. "I met him outside of his class, and we went to La Cafe Musain and had coffee. I had my usual latte, and he had a skinny soy-milk frappuccino, and we sat on those two chairs in the corner. He sits with his legs in the chair beneath him. We sat there and just told each other about ourselves. He's doing a double major in Literature and European History. And he constantly moves his hands. He sat there with a Sharpie and just absentmindedly doodled on a napkin. And then our coffees were gone, and we just kept sitting there and talking. We got cookies. He writes poetry; it just flows out whenever an opportunity presents itself. And he's so good..." Courfeyrac trailed off, remembering the ease with which Jehan had spoken. Grantaire looked around with wide eyes and said, "Loverboy's got it bad." Courfeyrac sighed, not paying any attention. Combeferre and Grantaire laughed, fixing their game. Enjolras went back to his book, shaking his head.

* * *

**would you like to come to my poetry reading? its friday night in shop i told u about at 8** Courfeyrac searched through his texts with a smile, making sure that he had the right place and time.  Courfeyrac walked into the smokey room and looked for Jehan.  He spotted him on the edge of a middle row and walked over.  Jehan stood up when he spotted Courfeyrac walking towards him and gave him a hug.  Tonight he had on a lavender pair of heans with designs ina slightly lighte shade; a brown, pinstriped button-down with the top couple of buttons undone; a lavender undershirt; bright, floral converse; and flowers that were laced through his braid.  Cuorfeyrac himself was wearing a deep purple button down over a light blue Avengers shirt and his nice jeans.  Jehan moved to let Courfeyrac sit ont he inside so that Jehan would be in easy access to the stage. Jehan leaned into Courfeyrac and whispered, "You made it just in time. The smokes are being lit."  Courfeyrac's heart beat faster at their proximity.  Jehan was scheduled to go last, so they prepared for an interesting night.  They listened as each artist went on stage, commently quielty to each other at each verse.  About half way through the night, Jehan laced his fingers with Courfeyrac's and smiled when Courfeyrac fumbled mid-sentence.  They held hands tightly until Jehan got up for his turn.  Courfeyrac gave his hand a light squeeze before letting go.  

Jehan walked to the microphone and said, "Jehan."  Courfeyrac watched as almost everyone enthusiastically snapped their fingers and whistled.  Jehan looked down, and when he flicked his eyes back to the crowd, he fixed a dramatically intense stare on the crowd.  Jehan got really close to the microphone and said in a gutteral voice, "Forgive me." Jehan paused and everyone was hooked.  It was silent except for the low sucking sounds of peaple taking a drag from their cigarettes.  Jehan moved back to the microphone and said, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."  Everyone leaned forward in their seats.  Courfeyrac was intrigued.  "Forgive me, Father, for I have felt love." Jegan dragged out "love" in a suggestive manner that made the crowd snicker.  "I have felt the steady thrummmmm," Jehan moaned the word, "of butterflies soaring high in the throws of humanity, and I have felt the shudder of falling angels, basking in the glow of fulfilling smiles."  Jehan leaned back, then came back the microphone and repeated in that gutteral voice, "Forgive me."  He paused. "Forgive me, Father, for I have heard the sweet sighs of waves washing over fields filled with hopping animals sovered in holes, holes, holes!"  Jehan gripped the mic-stand  with both hands in such a way that Courfeyrac thought it should be illegal.  Jehan sighed into the microphone and slowly peeled his fingers off of the stand.  "Forgive me," Jehan said quielty, innocently.  "Forgive me, Father, for I have felt such joy. Pure, innocent joy of seeing the smiles of others.  The laughter of those I love, and dancing children.  I have smelled the sweet perfume of flowers, and felt the cold dew of morn.  And I have felt contentment sitting on a chair and hearing you talk.  Te aduro, Father.  Forgive me."  Jehan smiled at the enthusiastic snapping, and even some clapping, that followed the end.  Courfeyrac didn't know anything about poetry, but he knew he hadn't expected  _that_ from Jehan, or the rush of  _want_ that he felt because of it.  Since Jehan was the last one, a lot of people stood and approached him as he came off of the small stage.  Courfeyrac watched as Jehan politely responded to questions and comments, but was obviously trying to return to Courfeyrac.  

When Jehan finally got to him, he stopped, grinned, and asked, "What did you think?"  Courfeyrac stood and walked until he was face to face with Jehan.  He stopped, put both hands on either side of Jehan's face, and fiercely kissed him.  Jehan reached up and laced his fingers through Courfeyrac's hair.  Jehan pulled back slightly and chuckled when they heard wolf whistles.  Courfeyrac leaned their foreheads together, and Jehan breathed out, "wow!"  Courfeyrac moved one hand to the back of his neck and replaced it wilth his cheek.  He whispered, "I don't know anything about poetry, but I know that I want to be there for every poem, every phrase, that comes from your bright mind for the rest of my life."  Jehan gasped lightly, but Courfeyrac continued. "And I know that we just met, and we barely know anything about each other," Courfeyrac leaned back and looked into Jehan's eyes, "but I can't imagine life without you at my side." Jehan fiercely kissed Coufeyrac, then said, "I don't understand it, but I fell the same way. And I  _really_ need you to come home with me right now."  Courfeyrac's breath hitched at the tone in Jehan's voice. He kissed him again, Jehan already pulling them back into the streets.

Jehan kept a strong grip on Courfeyrac's hand as he pulled him down the streets almost at a run.  Courfeyrac would stop him and kiss him fiercely. After a couple of blocks in the direction of the campus, Jehan pulled Courfeyrac up the steps to a rather small apartment building.  It was an old building with only four stories.  Jehan pulled Coufeyrac up the stairs at a skip, then down the hallway on the third floor.  Jehan stopped in front of the last apartment and let go of Courfeyrac's hand to unlock the door.  Jehan opened the door, stepped inside, and looked at Courfeyrac, who then crashed his lips on Jehan's and kicked the the door shut.

* * *

 

They layed together in Jehan's bed.  Jehan was sleeping on Courfeyrac's chest, their legs entwined, and the sheet pulled up around their waists.  Courfeyrac was lightly tracing the intricate tattoos on Jehan's back, looking around the small bedroom they were in.  They were laying in a full sized bed that was barely off the floor; there was a small dresser on the outside wall.  There was a huge mirror on the wall across from the bed, and Courfeyrac watche dhtem, trying to capture every detail.  Courfeyrac felt light kisses pressed to his chest, and he looked into the smiling face of Jehan.  Jehan wriggled up Courfeyrac's body to kiss him on the lips gently.  "Never leave," he said.  

"I wouldn't dream of it."

**Author's Note:**

> I am awful at poetry. Horribly, horribly awful. I am so sorry. I also don't like to characterize Jehan as most do: girly, shy, quiet, etc. Yeah, I know you know what I mean. I picture Jamie Campbell Bower as Jehan with the movie cast as most everyone else. And Enjolras has the wonderful golden locks.


End file.
